


Promised The World

by Ashleigh148



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action, Action/Adventure, Adventure, Angst, Death, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Romance, Skyrim Civil War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2019-08-20 05:49:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16550117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashleigh148/pseuds/Ashleigh148
Summary: Miravelle, living for as long as she has, never expected to be named Dragonborn. Yet, with the guidance of her loving father, she aims to fulfill her destiny and survive a Civil War she prefers not to have a part in. But she finds herself getting drawn to the mystery that is the Jarl of Windhelm.





	1. Dragonborn

**Location: Windhelm**  
25 **th** **of Morning Star**   


"You come here where you're not wanted, you eat our food, you pollute our city with your stink and you refuse to help the Stormcloaks!"

"But we haven't taken a side because it's not our fight!"

That was the first thing Miravelle Rolain heard when she and her father entered Windhelm. She would roll her eyes at the words she was listening to, but it rather exhausting, having heard such things a hundred times before.

The sun was setting in a pool of gold and red when Miravelle and Arvus arrived at the snowy city. Her Nord blood allowed for her to handle the cold, but sadly the same could not be said for her Dark Elf father, who was bundled up in his mage's robes to protect him from the small blizzard that encompassed Windhelm.

"Hey, maybe the reason these gray-skins don't help in the war is because they're Imperial spies!"

The first voice she heard belonged to the Nord in the brown belted tunic. This second one belonged to his friend, who may very well be a beggar, given his roughspun tunic and footwraps. It did not matter to Miravelle, who was determined to put an end to the two male Nords bullying the female Dark Elf.

"Imperial spies? You can't be serious!" The female Dark Elf spat, offended and quite obviously, tired of this treatment that without a doubt was happening for a long time.

"Maybe we'll pay you a visit tonight, little spy. We got ways of finding out what you really are..."

Upon hearing that from the Nord with the belted tunic, Miravelle knew it was time to shut this down. "HEY," Her typically mellowed voice, one that was pleasant as good wine, hollered and hit the Nords with surprise. "You want to pick on somebody, how about you start with me, Nord?"

Rolff Stone-Fist scanned the woman before him from head to toe. Her mid-back hair, black as night, was in a single braid, with loose strands of hanging over her face. She had exquisite green eyes, bright like emeralds. Her skin was a light shade of grey and her ears and chin were slightly pointed – signs pointing to her Dunmer blood. She wore a Studded Armor set without the helmet and had a Daedric Sword attached to her hip.

Yet all in all, she did not intimidate him. "Who do we have here? A half-breed to side with the Dark Elf?"

"I'll come to the aid of anyone who's getting harassed by an imbecile like you. So how about you back away, Nord?" She rested her hand on the hilt of her sword.

"You think I would fall to the command of an elf? You damn gray-skin. Go back to Morrowind!" He yelled.

Miravelle was, of course, not going to have any of this. "Go ahead: anger the Dragonborn and summon the ancient power of the Thu'um. It will not end well for you…" She delivered in a low, threatening manner, taking steps towards him.

"Wait… so it's true!" Realization and shock was all over Rolff's face. "A half-breed really is the Dragonborn!"

She raised one eyebrow at him, her blood slowly beginning to boil. "Your displeasure tells me that you expected a Nord. I'm every bit Nord as my mother was."

"In fact, my daughter is more Nord than you." Her father voiced from behind her, equally angered at what was transpiring.

Rolff scowled at him like he was pure poison. "No one is talking to you, you filthy piece of trash!"

For that, Rolff received a hard slap that he never saw coming, what with that swift speed. It took him off his feet and onto his knees, with that female Dark Elf skipping behind to avoid him, and his Nord friend coming to his aid.

"Speak to my father in that manner again and I will cut out your tongue," Her voice dripped with venom. "You have a real attitude problem. What did the elves ever do to you?"

"They're parasites! They're living in our city, under our protection, but what do they do for us? Nothing!" He answered, holding his swollen cheek. "I know the High King invited them here, but he didn't ask me or anyone else first! Maybe he should have!" He finally got to his feet, and the removal of his hand from his cheek revealed a tiny bleeding cut. No doubt it was the silver ruby ring she wore caused that.

Miravelle's face reflected how baffled she was to hear the nonsense coming from the male Nord. "'He should have'? What, are you the High King's relative, that he has to ask you for your permission?"

"You talk too much, you half-bred bitch!" He growled and proceeded to take a swing at Miravelle.

She threw her head back and punched him as hard as she could in the face, which resulted in Rolff falling into the arms of his Nord friend, Angrenor Once-Honored. They both hit the ground like a pile of bricks.

Miravelle massaged her fist, keeping her cold stare. "Get out of here, before I end up in jail for murder."

The two Nords stumbled away, with Rolff holding onto his bleeding nose.

Miravelle let go of a much-needed sigh, prompting her father to set a hand on her shoulder to calm her. The female Dark Elf walked up to Miravelle, gratitude written all over her face. "Azura bless you! Thank you for your help."

Miravelle returned the smile. "It's not a problem, my lady. Are you alright? Is there anybody I can get for you?"

She shook her head, simply relieved to have been rescued. "No, my lady. I'm alright."

"Miravelle Rolain," She held out her hand for shake. "My father, Arvus."

"Suvaris Atheron. A pleasure." She said with an individual nod both father and daughter.

"I take it this isn't the first time that Nord's been a bother?"

Suvaris scoffed. "Most of the Nords living in Windhelm don't care much for us, but Rolff Stone-Fist is the worst by far. He's the brother to the Jarl's second-in-command. He likes to get drunk and walk around the Gray Quarter yelling insults at us in the small hours of the morning. A real charmer, that one. Some of these Nords will come up with any excuse to despise us. And it isn't just the dark elves they hate - they make a target of the Argonians as well. In fact, just about anyone who isn't a Nord is fair game for their bullying!"

Miravelle listened intently, deeply disturbed by what she was hearing. "I'm sorry that this is happening. I had hoped things would improve. I haven't visited Windhelm in a few years, you see."

"Oh. Well, I'm sorry to say that things remained the same."

"I am too."

* * *

**Location: Palace of the Kings**

"We've been soldiers a long time. We know the price of freedom. The people are still weighing things in their hearts."

"What's left of Skyrim to wager?"

"They have families to think of..."

"How many of their sons and daughters follow your banner? We are their families!"

Miravelle and Arvus entered the Palace of the Kings, only to find the throne room empty, with the exception of a man standing next to the throne, whom Miravelle could only deduce was the Jarl's steward. As they made their way to the throne, they picked up two voices coming from the war room. The first voice was a deep one. Commanding even, yet calm as still waters. The second one was gruff, sounding as if he had smoked too much.

"Well put, friend. Tell me, Galmar, why do you fight for me?"

Miravelle soon discovered the man whom the gravelly voice belonged to; he was the first to exit the war room, followed by his second-in-command.

"I'd follow you into the depths of Oblivion! You know that!"

Miravelle hovered on the hint of a smirk, seeing as how Galmar Stone-Fist sounded shocked that his Jarl would question such a thing.

"Yes, but why do you fight? If not for me, what then?" Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak asked, stopping before his throne, one hand caressing the throne's arm.

"I'll die before elves dictate the fates of men! Are we not one in this?"

Miravelle watched the blonde Jarl tremble just a little, as if he had been holding back his next words for a long time, which was why his voice then echoed all around the throne room. "I fight for the men I've held in my arms, dying on foreign soil! I fight for their wives and children, whose names I heard whispered in their last breaths! I fight for we few who did come home, only to find our country full of strangers wearing familiar faces! I fight for my people impoverished to pay the debts of an Empire too weak to rule them, yet brands them criminals for wanting to rule themselves! I fight so that all the fighting I've already done hasn't been for nothing! I fight... because I must…" As if his point had been made, Ulfric lowered his voice.

Nevertheless, Galmar was extremely pleased to have had a front-row seat to his Jarl's speech. "Your words give voice to what we all feel, Ulfric. And that's why you will be High King! But the day words are enough, will be the day when soldiers like us are no longer needed."

Ulfric himself almost had a smile formed on his face. "I would gladly retire from the world were such a day to dawn."

"Aye," Galmar nodded. "But in the meantime, we have a war to plan."

Miravelle turned her head to her father, who nodded, telling her that it was alright to advance and speak to the Jarl.

Ulfric Stormcloak, of course, did not expect to see a Nord with Dark Elf features in his throne room. "Only the foolish or the courageous approach a Jarl without summons..." He said, eyeing her suspiciously as he took a seat on the throne. "Do I know you?"

"Your father did," An answer like that most certainly prompted a look of puzzlement from the Jarl. "Ah, but that was a lifetime ago. I used to hunt and bring him the best bear and wolf pelts. I knew you, but only the few times I ever saw you as a child. Before you were taken away to become a Greybeard," She kept a smirk, one that was only natural, having reminisced all those years. "But I digress. Miravelle Rolain. My father, Arvus. I am the Dragonborn."

"The ones the Greybeards called for," Ulfric said. "Reports did say you carried a Daedric Sword, and are of Nord and Dunmer blood."

"Yes, it seems that one or two Nords believe that the Dragonborn should be purely of Nord blood. To which I tell them, with my fists of course, that I am every bit Nord as my mother was."

"Looking at you, my lady, I wouldn't deny that. You are Dragonborn, a title bestowed upon you by Akatosh himself."

"Yes. You would forgive me for my harsh tone, Jarl Ulfric. The journey has been rather difficult."

"I can imagine," He sat up straighter in his throne to address the woman. "Now, what's your reason for being here?"

"I have something that will be of interest to you," She motioned at her father and he proceeded to fish a journal out of their travel sack. "A Thalmor dossier."

Ulfric and Galmar exchanged looks of confusion. "Speak like you make sense, Dragonborn,"

"No doubt you've heard of the mess the Thalmor Embassy is in? I had lots of fun," Miravelle said with some pride in her voice. "In the process of trying to uncover intel about the dragons, I had discovered this. I most certainly do not need it. Hence, the person whom the journal is about must have it."

Without a word, his green eyes scanned the journal, and then her. Then he signaled for her to hand him the dossier. He opened to find that the first page read, _**Thalmor Dossier: Ulfric Stormcloak.**_

"I'd read that in private, my Jarl. Its contents are… rather disturbing. Then again, we are speaking about the Thalmor."

"Indeed we are," Ulfric spoke after a two-second pause. He shut the dossier. "You have probably done me a great service, bringing this to me. I thank you for that, Dragonborn."

"Just attempting to do what is right," She said. "Oh and yes. We would like to extend our condolences. At Jarl Hoag's passing. He was a fine man."

She was about 30 years too late, but given her earlier statement and current tone of voice, she had indeed knew his father and greatly respected him. "Thank you, Dragonborn."

"We shall take our leave then."

"Safe travels, my lady. Sir."

Miravelle and her father turned to exit, but a sudden realization stopped the Dragonborn. "Oh!" She exclaimed with the snap of her fingers. "Galmar Stone-Fist. Your brother is Rolff, yes?"

Galmar squinted at her just before glancing at his jarl regarding such a question. "Yes."

"He's probably still picking up his teeth from the floor, but I'd appreciate it if you could tell him that if I ever see him bothering any of the Dunmer or Argonians or anyone else who isn't a Nord, I'll shout him off the nearest cliff."

While Galmar would not take lightly to anyone threatening a member of his family, he was aware of his brother's nature. So, he replied with a solid, "Noted."

Though she did not see it, the Jarl held a small smile at the Dragonborn's ferocity.


	2. Blood on the Ice

**Location: Windhelm**   
**25th of Morning Star**

"That went better than expected," Arvus commented with a sly smile on his face, as he and his daughter exited the Palace of the Kings. "Hoag's son has certainly grown up, hasn't he?"

Miravelle nodded. "I briefly remember the tiny, yellow-haired cub running all around the palace. Hoag was crushed to have had to send away his only son."

"Hoag confided in you?"

"He considered me a friend. After all, I brought him the best animal pelts."

Arvus allowed himself a sigh of satisfaction. "It still amazes me that back then, your talents reached even to jarls. I always knew you were destined for great things, and I've been proven right once again now that you're Dragonborn."

A hue of pink dusted her cheeks. "Father…"

"You know I cannot help but say such things, my dear," They came to a stop so Arvus could tell her to her face, "Your mother would be so proud, bless her."

"Thank you, father. As always."

* * *

 **Location: Candlehearth Inn  
26th of ** **Morning Star**

"Good morning, Dragonborn. Slept well?"

"Yes, Elda. My father will be out soon, but I'll have an apple pie first."

"Coming right up."

"Dragonborn, you say?" Miravelle eyes fell on the owner of the voice before her - a large man in scaled horn armor who was slouching over his tankard. "Then Skyrim will be safe after all."

"That is my intention," She motioned at the empty seat next to him. "This seat taken, good sir?"

"That depends," He twisted his neck more so that he could get a better look at the Dragonborn. "You one of those 'Skyrim for the Nords' types?"

While she was taken aback to hear such a question, it still was not much of a surprise, considering the city she was in. "Why, of course not. Skyrim is big enough for everyone."

"Good. Too many Nords in this town have been listening to Ulfric's narrow-minded words. He's tough, loyal to his men, and a good leader, but if you're not a Nord, Ulfric will never trust you."

She snickered at that, her head shaking. "When the Dragonborn is of Nord and Dunmer blood, I'm sure he has no choice but to trust her, for she is tasked with ridding the world of Alduin."

"Perhaps, fair lady. Perhaps. Please, sit. The name's Brunwulf Free-Winter."

"Miravelle Rolain," She said as she made her comfortable on the stool, awaiting for her apple pie. "Skyrim is divided, I do not deny that. But all folk should be welcome here. It is what makes a country a country."

"And you're right, at least as far as I'm concerned. Don't let Ulfric or some of these other short-sighted Nords bother you. Most of us are happy to welcome newcomers."

"Oh, I do beg pardon. I have visited Windhelm many times in my life. The previous Jarl often employed my services, to provide animal pelts. I'm neither a newcomer here, nor is this city my home."

"Ah, I see."

Elda Early-Dawn, the inn's owner, placed a plate of freshly-baked apple pie in front of Miravelle, not without a smile. "Here you go, Dragonborn."

"Thank you, Elda," She picked up a fork. "Is it true, good sir? That the Jarl does not care about outsiders?"

Brunwulf let go of a much-needed exhalation. "Whenever a group of marauders attack a Nord village, Ulfric is the first to sound the horn and send the men. But a group of Dark Elf refugees gets ambushed? A group of Argonians, or a Khajiit caravan? No troops. No investigation. Nothing. There's a group of cutthroats out there right now that Ulfric doesn't lift a finger to bring to justice, as long as they don't threaten Nord land."

"Do you believe it is because he does not care or that he has a civil war on his hands?"

"We will never truly know, will we?" He gave her a forlorn smile.

Miravelle glanced down at her apple pie, a finger drumming in thought on the old wood of the bar table. "Those group of cutthroats you mentioned… I don't know how, but I will find the time to dispose of them."

The Nord widened his eyes at the Dragonborn, hardly expecting such a declaration, but one that brought a pleasant smirk to the old warrior nonetheless. "That's a brave offer. I'd be happy to throw in my coin behind that. They're at Traitor's Post, just east of Windhelm. You deal with them, I'll make sure you get paid. Maybe this old soldier will throw in some lessons as well."

Upon hearing that, her lips lifted upward. It was also as if a small sense of relief washed over her to hear the word 'paid'. "That's awfully kind of you. And the coin will be helpful. With all this dragon drama, I'm hardly open for business."

"What business is it you do exactly?"

"I operate out of my home in Falkreath. I sell animal pelts, forge weapons and armor, make potions… My father teaches magic and sells spell books."

Brunwulf listened to the Dragonborn intently, and his nods reflected how impressed he was with her. "That is a lot of talents for a young lass like yourself,"

She shied at his words, turning her head away with a giggle or two. "Oh my! I am 114 years old, good sir."

Without a doubt, the revelation of her age astonished him just a little. "Aren't you considered able-bodied in human years, then?"

"Yes, of course. I can still do all the things I've been able to do when I was 16, but I live on borrowed time, after all. I _am_ half human. My Mer blood can only go so far," She picked up her untouched tankard of mead, stopping a few inches short from her red lips. "But still… it's almost as if I lived a few lifetimes within one life."

* * *

 **Location: Windhelm  
** **26th of** **Morning Star**

A small blizzard grazed over Windhelm on this morning. It was time for Miravelle and Arvus to set out for Riften, to locate former Blades' member, Esbern, whom the Thalmor were after. They knew that anyone who had wanted to hide away from the world would do so in the Ratways, and it was known that that place was home to the Thieves Guild.

Miravelle did indeed have some run-ins with thieves whenever they attempted to break into her home, Lakeview Manor. She had been the owner of that house and the land it was built on for almost her entire life, and she would be damned if anyone tried to steal from her. To counter this, Arvus had spell traps and his daughter had trained dogs.

"Ready for the trip to Riften, child?"

"Yes, father. I do hope Soul and Storm have rested well." Soul was Arvus' horse, while Storm was Miravelle's.

A shrill scream pierced the air, startling both father and daughter. "Father?" She called.

"Let's go see."

They knew that frightened shriek came from around the Temple of Talos, perhaps the graveyard. True enough, there was a small circle of citizens, as well as a guard, surrounding the body of a young woman bathed in her own blood, laid for display over a grave.

"What in Talos' name…" Miravelle whispered in disbelief as she and her father made their way down the connecting steps.

"Holt! Keep your distance." The Windhelm guard ordered.

"This… this is awful!" A woman with black matted hair and ragged robes sniveled, traumatized more than she could say.

"Hey, now," Instinctively, Miravelle hurried over to the woman, Silda the Unseen, and placed an arm around her protectively. "Keep calm, my lady. It's alright," She then addressed the guard. "What happened here?"

"Another girl killed. This is Susanna, from the Candlehearth Hall," The guard's head turned to Susanna, shaking it in disappointment. "Poor girl. Served me a drink just a few nights ago."

To hear the word 'another' set off some alarms in Miravelle's head. "'Another'? Then this has happened before?"

"Susanna's the third. It's always the same: young girl, killed at night, body torn up."

"Why isn't anything being done about this?" She questioned, now starting to feel some outrage in her heart.

"We're stretched thin as it is with the war. Nobody has the time to spend on this. Not pleasant, but it is the truth." The guard sounded as if he had to memorize his words, but she did indeed hear the regret in his tone.

"Well…" Miravelle then spoke loud enough so that the people around her could listen. "Did anyone see anything? Anything at all?"

An Imperial in red-colored merchant's clothes then answered, "I thought I saw a fellow running away, but I didn't get a good look at him."

Miravelle gave him a nod for his reply. "What about you, my lady?" She asked the trembling beggar in her arms.

"She was already… like this… when I got here. It's... it's so awful..."

"Shh, it's alright," She shushed. The last witness was Helgrid, a priestess at the Temple of Talos. No doubt she would prepare Susanna's body later. "Helgrid?"

"No, sorry. This must have happened during the night. But I can still that her coin purse is intact."

"Which means that the motive isn't robbery…" The guard verbalized, growing infuriated. "Just like always, nobody saw anything useful. The bastard's escaped again."

Miravelle turned her head just enough to see her father, who gave her a nod. They never actually needed words in order understand each other. "We can help."

"Help?" The guard may have been wearing a helmet, but she was sure he had a disgruntled look on his face. "Look, friend, if you think you can do better than a legion of guards, be my guest."

"I fail to see this 'legion of guards' you mention. If that were true, three lives wouldn't have been wasted." Arvus dictated, indirectly expressing to the guard that no one would speak to his daughter in such an acerbic manner.

Miravelle, of course, knew that, and thus could not help the tiny rise of the corner of her mouth. "My father speaks harshly, but truly."

"Well, you'll need to talk to Jorleif. We can't just let anyone go around claiming to be on official business."

"Fair enough. I will speak to him."


	3. Request

**Location: Windhelm  
26th of Morning Star**

"How did it go, my dear?"

"We have the go-ahead."

"Good. I followed the trail of blood while waiting for you, and it led me a house at the end of the Valunstrad district. It belongs to one of the victims, Friga Shatter-Shield. It's been abandoned ever since the poor girl was killed. Her family may have a key."

"Then I suppose we are off to bother a grieving family."

* * *

**Location: House of Clan Shatter-Shield**

"Yes?"

When Miravelle knocked on the door of the House of Clan Shatter-Shield, a pale woman with chestnut hair and green fine clothes answered. Her eyes were swollen, for good reason. "Pardon us, my lady. I am Miravelle Rolain. My father, Arvus. I am the Dragonborn."

Tova Shatter-Shield maintain a blank expression but responded nonetheless. "Oh, I see. It is an honor."

"The pleasure is all mine, my lady. My father and I are here to… well, it will rather difficult for you, but we wish to speak about your daughter."

"I'm sorry," Tova said almost instantly. "She was very dear to me, and it's rather painful to think about. I'd rather not talk about her, if you'll excuse me."

"We wish to figure out what happened to her and those girls. A murderer has this city trembling in terror and the guards aren't doing anything about it. I mean, how hard is it to have two or three men investigate?"

"It's what I've been asking all this time, Dragonborn…"

"I understand that the house has been abandoned since her death. But that may not be so. Do you have the key? We wish to investigate."

Tova released a sigh through her nose. "I want to have nothing to do with that house. I'm not sure what you think you'll find in there, but you're welcome to have a look. Give me a minute to fetch the key."

"Of course."

* * *

**Location: Hjerim**

"By Talos' mighty crown!"

"Nerevar!"

Miravelle used her own hair to protect her nose. "What do you make of this all, father?"

"Necromancy, if anything," Arvus had the sleeve of his robes to prevent him from inhaling the stench that plagued this once-grand house. "Gods, no one's used this house for other than that in months!"

"Someone has definitely been living there though," She pointed out to the bottles of mead scattered on the floor. A lone chest sat on the corner, prompting Miravelle to peek inside. She found several folded pamphlets, as well as a journal.

The pamphlet read,

**_Beware the Butcher! The killer who haunts the streets of Windhelm! These calamitous times bring out the worst in people, don't become the next victim! See Viola Giordano if you spot any suspicious behavior.'_ **

"Ah yes. Viola the Gossip," Miravelle opened up the journal to find a lone entry, detailing towards necromancy, as well as a failed murder attempt at Susanna. It also mentioned the writer's time in Winterhold and magic. Miravelle could only deduce that they were speaking about the College of Winterhold.

"Mira, my child, come over here when you are done!"

"Coming, father!" Her father's voice came from within a room deeper in the house. She found him standing in the room with two wardrobes and a shelf, holding onto an open journal. "I see you have a journal as well." She said, lifting up the first one she had found.

"I imagine there is mention of necromancy?"

"Indeed, there is."

"Not a surprise," He shut the book and then presented to her an amulet that bore the carving of an aqua-colored skull. She was finding it rather ugly to look at. "I discovered this rather strange amulet. I may be wrong, but I believe that this is the Necromancer Amulet, a legendary artifact created by the King of Worms, Mannimarco."

Miravelle held her breath upon learning the identity of the amulet. "Father, you are a genius when it comes to all things magic, but for everyone's sake, I do hope you are wrong."

"Indeed, child. Here," He walked over to the wardrobe he was standing in front of. "This wardrobe has been nailed to the wall. When I opened it, there was a false back panel."

"Oh Gods!" She squealed, peering into this hidden room. A mixture of blood, bones, bloody remains, and embalming tools decorated the room, as well as the altar that was present. There was no doubt that someone was attempting to perform necromancy.

'I know, Mira. In here was where I found the other journal."

"Well, I think we have all that we need, father. Let us take this information to the steward."

* * *

**Location: Palace of the Kings**

The Rolains entered the Palace of the Kings in order to update Jorleif about what they had discovered in Hjerim, and found the Jarl of Windhelm seated upon his throne. "Jarl Ulfric," Miravelle greeted, knowing that he probably did not expect to see her still in Windhelm. "A fine day to you."

"And you, my lady," Ulfric responded, giving the Dragonborn's father a nod. "I was just speaking to Jorleif. I understand that you and your father are now in charge of the murder investigations?"

"Well, something has to be done about all this. Young girls are brutally murdered, and no effort has been made to catch the scoundrel? As a woman, I take great offence."

A borderline insult about the competence of his guards, but the Jarl decided to let it slide as he could not help but admire her boldness. "I expect that you would be. So then? Any progress?"

"Hjerim is this 'butcher's' hideout. We have his journals, and we believe that he is attempting to raise someone from the dead. To accomplish that, he needs the body of a young woman, hence his targeting of Windhelm's ladies. We also have this strange amulet. We believe it to be the Necromancer Amulet, but we will need a second opinion."

Jorleif accepted the journals and leaned forward to inspect the amulet dangling from Arvus' hand. "I would take that to Calixto at his House of Curiosities. He has a good eye from strange trinkets."

* * *

**Location: Calixto's House of Curiosities**

"Welcome to Calixto's House of Curiosities! Ah, the woman from earlier. How may I help you?"

Calixto Corrium – the witness from the graveyard. Miravelle did not expect to see the Imperial as the owner, but it was a thought that should not matter. "Good day to you, sir. We would like to know if you are able to identity this amulet." Arvus presented the amulet to him, which Calixto took.

"Let me see…" His eyes studied the amulet from top to bottom. "Oh yes! This is the Wheelstone. It's an heirloom symbol of the power of Windhelm."

A direct opposite from Arvus' conclusion.

"Traditionally, it's carried by the court mage."

Miravelle could not help the passing of a second of silence. "The court mage?"

"Yes. It's purely ceremonial. Wuunferth would have no use for it, so there's point in giving it to him. He gives me the creeps anyways. They say he dabbles in necromancy."

"I don't believe it…" She mumbled loud enough for the men to hear.

"Yes," He returned the amulet to her father, an idea flashing through his face. "If you're interested in parting with the amulet, I'm happy to purchase for let's say… 500 gold? It'll be a great edition to my private collection."

_Purely ceremonial, and yet you want to buy it? And you were at the graveyard as well._ She only had a faction of a moment to comprehend his words and respond. So, she wore the warmest smile she had. "A fair price, but I would like to hold onto it. I feel that it may suit my display case."

Calixto shrugged her shoulders, his face completely void of any reason for Miravelle to suspect him; he was either innocent or just exceptional at masking his true emotions. "Suit yourself. You're still welcome to sell it to me, should you still have possession of it."

"I shall remember that. Thank you."

Miravelle and Arvus promptly left his museum to make their way back to the Palace of the Kings, with the gears in Mirabelle's head turning. Arvus then spoke. "So, it is the court mage?"

"Wuunferth may live a secluded life within the walls of the palace, but he is no killer. I've purchased several magical items from him over the years. He has never given me a sign to show that he would commit such heinous deeds."

"People can change, my dear."

"While that is true, I'm not entirely convinced that it is the court mage," She stopped in her tracks to turn to face her father. "In fact, we would speak with him. Directly."

The corner of Arvus' lips arched upwards. "I see that look in your eyes, child. You believe that the true killer is closer than we think."

"Indeed I do, father."

* * *

**Location: Palace of the Kings (Upstairs)**

"Wuunferth?"

"Yes?" The elderly court mage had been bent over his alchemy table when a mellow voice called for him. "Ah, you look familiar. Mirabelle?"

"Miravelle. I purchased soul gems from you whenever Hoag employed my services. My father, Arvus," She motioned to the Dark Elf. "No doubt you've heard about the murders?"

"Awful, isn't it?" He said, returning to his alchemy. "I've been noting a pattern to when the killings happen, but I'm unable to properly presume the reason. Some dark forces are at play here, that's for sure."

Once again, Miravelle had but a ridiculously short time to process his words. _Not something I'd hear from the potential criminal._ "You've been attempting to bring this killer to justice?"

"Something _has_ to be done, Miravelle. The guards have no leads, and so where they've failed, magic shall prevail."

She decided not to answer that. She gave her father a nod – a silent request to show the amulet to the mage. "Do you recognize this?"

Wuunferth sat down his alchemy bowl to turn and get a good look at the mysterious item. "Why, yes. That is the Necromancer's Amulet, of legend. How did you even acquire this?"

"In Hjerim, where the butcher has made it his lair for some sort of necromantic ritual."

"Necromantic ritual?"

"It appears that my father was right about the origin of this amulet. Calixto told us that it was a Wheelstone."

The court mage pulled a face that said he was not exactly a huge fan of the Imperial or his work. "Eehh... Calixto and his books are often confused about such matters. It happens to the best of us."

"While that may be… he was quite insistent that the court mage carried one for necromantic purposes."

She witnessed as his eyes widened with astonishment, which was followed by anger, seeing as how his own name was being dragged like that. "Necromancy? I am a member of the College of Winterhold, in good standing! They have _never_ allowed necromancy in that place! Never!"

"So either Calixto is lying to us, or he was honestly wrong about the amulet." Arvus said in a thoughtful manner.

"Do you have reason to suspect him?"

"Well, he did offer gold for the amulet."

"Suspicious, is it not?" Wuunferth walked past them and over to a table, where he proceeded to unfold a rather large paper, which showed to be a chart that they could not understand very well. "Nevertheless, now that we know they're tied in to some sort of necromantic ritual, I think I know when the next might occur. Let's see... From a Loredas of Last Seed until a Middas of Heartfire... it will happen soon. Very soon. Keep watch in the Stone Quarter tonight. That's almost certainly where the killer will strike next." He told the Rolains, as if his words were written there already in the chart.

"And what of Calixto?" Arvus asked his daughter.

"I have not ruled him out yet, so let's take him up on his offer, and watch the Stone Quart tonight as Wuunferth said," She met up with him as he folded up his chart. "I believe it in my heart that you are not the killer. I am trusting you on this."

She expected him to reply in outrage once more, but perhaps he had spent all his energy on the first one. "I just gave you a lead, Miravelle. That should count for something."

"Yes, I suppose so. Thank you for your council, Wuunferth."

* * *

**Location: Palace of the Kings**

"What do you have, Dragonborn?"

"Jarl Ulfric," She addressed with a small bow. "Some things that will be unpleasant to hear. But we are hoping that you will trust us with this."

"Then I will hear what you and your father have to say."

Miravelle proceeded to inform the Jarl about their visit to Calixto, his stance on the amulet, his steering towards the court mage, and their discussion with Wuunferth himself. "And Wuunferth has discovered that the next murder will take place tonight in the Stone Quarter. Calixto pointing the finger at your court mage is rather suspicious, as well as his wanting to purchase the amulet that he claims in purely ceremonial," She took in a breath and looked at her father fleetingly, showing that she was nervous about presenting her request. "So this is going to be cruel to ask, but while my father and I patrol the Stone Quarter tonight, we ask that a close eye be kept on Wuunferth."

"I have known that mage for a long time. He is not a killer." Ulfric answered almost instantly.

"My Jarl-"

"He doesn't need to be watched over like a child, Dragonborn," It was hopeless for her to think that her soothing tone could compete with his imposing one, considering what she was implying. "And besides, he hardly leaves the palace. And he gave you the location of the next possible murder."

"I need to consider all possibilities. If that makes me unpopular, then so be it. We will find this murderer one way or the other."

"See that you do."

* * *

**Location: Stone Quarter**

"It was obvious that the Jarl would taken offense to accusing his court mage. Do not take it to heart, my dear."

"I will not, father. Not to worry. Although I wish could punch him in the face, but… I'm sure his rather large nose would just hit me back."

A gentle chuckle rumbled from within her father's throat. They remained hidden in a dark corner of the Stone Quarter, more specifically, the pathway connecting the quarter and the palace.

"How does the killer hope to commit murder in the Stone Quarter?" She questioned, keeping a watchful eye on the closed stalls, the lone guard who leaned against the wall facing the stalls and had his head dipped and arms across his chest, and Hermir Strong-Heart who was working at the forge all by herself. "It's smaller than any of the rooms in our home and there's a guard there all the time! Even though… this one's sleeping while standing up."

"I'd like to see how this works out as well. Perhaps the court mage was wrong with his… charts?"

Miravelle only replied after two heartbeats. "Perhaps not."

The Rolains could see a lone figure strolling in suspiciously from the Stone Quarter's opposite entrance, with an item in his right hand. Not a single sound came from the man, who the Rolains could see with assistance from the forge's fire, that he wore red fine clothes and had light brown hair.

"Calixto…" Miravelle murmured, the picture before her becoming clearer.

Calixto's grip on his iron dagger tighten as he approached the unsuspecting Hermir Strong-Heart from behind.

"The female blacksmith…"

"I have this, child." Arvus told her, before leaving her side and raising his left hand to prepare a spell. The green ghostly sphere left his hand and hit Calixto with swift speed, shocking Hermir and making her drop her hammer and the sword she was working on. "What in Talos!"

Every muscle in Calixto's body tensed up and he fell to the ground like a log. The useless guard who was on duty was interrupted from his slumber. Miravelle and Arvus hurried over to Hermir and Calixto, with the Dragonborn checking on Hermir. Arvus made sure that the killer was still breathing, before preparing the rope to bind the butcher's hands together with.

* * *

**Location: Palace of the Kings**

"Here you are, Jarl Ulfric," Miravelle announced as she, her father, and Calixto who was getting dragged in by two guards, entered the palace. "Windhelm's butcher."

"Calixto?!" Jorleif gasped in disbelief as the Imperial was being hauled into the Bloodworks of the palace, who still attempted to resist without a single word. "That man has always been a little odd, but… to be the killer?"

"People can be full of surprises," It was the only thing Miravelle felt that she could say in this situation.

"You are in this city's debt, Dragonborn. Truly." The steward said with a relieved look on his face.

"Well, it was my father's paralyzing spell that did the job."

"Mira would have flung an iron dagger right into that man's face, but we did require the fiend alive." Arvus said with a playful smile.

"Do we know why Calixo did what he did?" Ulfric asked.

"As he was resisting earlier, he mentioned a name. Lucilla. He refused to comment further, but we can only presume that she was the person he was trying to resurrect." She related.

Jorleif did however, know that name. "Lucilla? Gods be good, she was his sister. The poor thing passed some time back and Calixto opened his museum."

Miravelle lowered her head in respect for Lucilla. "That's tragic. To be driven to madness like that…"

"I'm happy that my court mage is exempted from this crime," The Jal then spoke. "This was excellent work, Dragonborn. Windhelm owes you a great service."

"Actually, it was my father-"

"We owe the both of you," It was almost as if the Jarl had to correct his mistake, but his voice showed no evidence of that; he was still as steely as ever. "You will find the guards to be more cordial with the two of you in the future. As for tonight, I am extending the hospitality of the palace. You two are welcome to spend it in one of our rooms."

Miravelle was certainly not expecting that and neither was her father. Nevertheless, he nodded to get when she turned for his opinion. "You are too kind, my Jarl. We accept."

She could have sworn that there was a satisfied smile hidden away on his face when he replied with, "It wasn't a request."

The Dragonborn had no plausible reply for that, at which Jorleif requested that they follow him and so he guided the Rolains to the upper levels of the palace. With another impish smile, the Dark Elf said to his daughter, "You know, I think he likes you."


	4. Family Doesn't Pay

**Location: Windhelm  
26th of ** **Morning Star**

"You know, I think he likes you."

Miravelle Rolain shot her father an awed look when his words reached her ears in a whisper. While she wanted to reply, they were walking just behind the Jarl's steward, who was guiding them to their room for the night. When they reached their destination, they thanked Jorleif and shut the door behind him. "Father…!" She dragged in a piqued manner.

Arvus could not help but chuckle amiably as he removed his knapsack. "You don't think so?" He walked over to the small table to pour them some wine.

She removed her scabbard and her steel Nordic gauntlets. "I think that considering the state of the Grey Quarter, the Jarl wouldn't be caught dead with a half Dunmer woman."

"While I was simply joking, child, you should never think lowly of yourself like that," He told her in stern, yet mellow manner as he handed her a goblet.

She accepted the goblet with an apologetic look. "I beg pardon, Father."

"You are the Dragonborn, as we've discovered. Blessed by Akatosh himself when you came into this world a century ago. You are worthier than any man will ever be able to comprehend. And if the Jarl or any other man for that matter does not see that, then he is a damn fool."

"Father…" She placed a hand on his cheek with a forlorn smile. "I am done with men. With love and hopes and dreams. I've sought to take care of you and the family business, and once the dragon menace is dealt with, I will go back to doing just that until the day I die."

"You can have it all. You had it all before."

"Yes, and I've lost it all before. Painfully," The last word saw some lament in it as she found herself a seat at the small table. "I never thought I'd live for as long as I have. I may have Dunmer blood, but I'm also human. So when will this torture stop?"

"My dear…" Arvus took a seat opposite her. "You cannot think that way. Life is a gift. It has always been one."

"Do you truly see it that way, father?" She asked after a pause.

"I do."

"Even after Mother's passing?"

He had his own joyless smile for that. "If there was a way, I would have taken half of the time I was granted by the Gods and given it to your mother. So that we could have grown old and someday die together. I told her, you know, when she stubbornly said she wanted to marry me and only me. I said to her that I would outlive her and what was I to do without her for the rest of my life?"

Miravelle adjusted herself in her seat and leaned forward a little. "And what did she say?"

"She told me that there would be someone to take care of me after she would be gone. When I asked her what she meant, she was referring to the child in her belly."

Miravelle knew what that meant, and she could not contain her warm grin.

"This is also a story about how I found out about you," He added cheerily, before taking his daughter's hand. "I lived for your mother, and now I live for you. You obviously live for me, for the business, but you can still find love for yourself once more."

"Only to get my heart broken?"

"No one said that love was without agony."

She released a mighty sigh, followed by a gulp of her wine. "Unfortunately…" She poured herself another goblet. "The Jarl…" She said with only a hint of disdain, packaged with a smile. "The Grey Quarter is in a pathetic state. Will he ever do anything to help them? If he wins against the Empire and becomes High King, will he help them?"

"The previous High King did indeed give the Dunmer population Solstheim, as well as the quarter. A Jarl is to protect his people and well… the Dunmer… I don't believe they are considered his people. Are they not refugees? We won't know for certain his true intentions, child."

"And there is this civil war that he is fighting… You heard his speech. He is passionate about what he's fighting for. Verolda would have joined his ranks in a heartbeat."

* * *

**Location: The Ragged Flagon, Riften  
27th of Morning Star**

With thin strips of clouds in the evening sky, the sun spilled its light over Riften, just as the Rolains entered the city. The next step into defeating the dragons was to locate an ex-Blade member named Esbern, who had been eluding the Thalmor for years. If a person did not want to be found, they would go to the Ratways, located just under the shadow of a city, Riften.

Miravelle only ever visited Riften for two reasons: visiting her favorite blacksmith Balimund, and handing gourmet food to the children living in the Honorhall Orphanage. For the latter, she has enjoyed doing that for years, until a headmistress ironically named Grelod 'the Kind' took over, and it was not long before Miravelle realized that the woman was nowhere near kind. If she could have gotten away with it, that woman would have been dead long ago. _An arrow to the back while she let the children play in the yard_ , she said to herself. _No one will know_. She had tried everything: sending someone to threaten her, leaving threatening letters, threatening Grelod herself, but that woman was stubborn as a cow. If only she was not an awful human being, Miravelle would have been impressed by her tenacity.

So Miravelle did something that while followed her for decades to come, she did not regret it. While Grelod observed as the children played in that small yard behind the orphanage, Miravelle entered the building, found the old woman's bedroom, and poured a bottle of Frostbite Venom into the alto wine bottle on her table. She heard that Grelod passed in her sleep, and so her assistant, a young adult nearing her twenties by the name of Constance, took over the orphanage.

It pleased Miravelle to see the orphans smile and not live in fear anymore.

Balimund was the reason why her forge back home in Lakeview Manor was better than ever, as she was using his secret ingredient of fire salts. After retrieving ten of those for him, they struck up a friendship, and he had been the person she would purchase smithing items from. He was an exceptional talent, she knew. However, she also wondered who would take over his forge after he was gone.

_"Forget marriage then, Balimund. You have a beautiful home. How about taking in an orphan?"_

_"I don't know, Miravelle…"_

_"There is a boy in there. Asbjorn. I see a… a spark. No, no… I see a small flame in that boy. It's waiting to burn strong, mighty just like your forge. Your legacy needs to continue as well, Balimund. And you'll be saving an innocent boy from that wretch Grelod."_

She watched Asbjorn pick up that hammer and wield it like it felt right.

Arvus was going to rest at the Bee and Barb while Miravelle would travel to the Ratways. Her father may be considered old, but he could still get into action if need be. Still, he needed a respite from time to time, and considering the person she was going to visit in the Ratways for information, it was best that he stayed away.

The travel to the Ragged Flagon was surprisingly an easy one, considering that as she descended through the tunnels, someone had left the habitants dead. The poor souls did not stand a chance against the mysterious assailant or assailants.

She cracked open the door to the Ragged Flagon with a gentle push, concerned that the attackers may be in there, but she found all to be quiet, except for the presence of the few occupants of the tavern. As she made her way around the cistern, straining her eyes to scan for a Nord with bright red hair. When she did, she could not help the goofy grin that was forcing its way to her face. "Never done an honest day's work in your life for all that coin you carry, eh lad?" She teased.

"Lass!" She received a cheerful greeting after the Nord recovered from his shock.

"Brynnie, my boy!" She fell right into his open arms. "Still handsome as ever!"

"And you, lass! Still the black-haired beauty! Come please, take a seat. Vekel will bring us a bottle," He led them to a table while Miravelle took the time to nod to the Thieves Guild members in attendance. "What took you so long to come and visit your favorite Nord? It's been years."

"Well I do apologize then. Even more so that I am here because I require your help."

"Do you, now?" He poured them both a tankard of mead.

"Don't worry, I've brought you a gift," Miravelle plopped an obviously-heavy coin purse on the table. "Took it off an insufferable Redguard named Nazeem back in Whiterun. Figured it would be helpful in my Dragonborn future. Also, I couldn't exactly punch him in the face in front of the city now, could I?"

Brynjolf pushed the coin purse towards her. "Family doesn't pay."

With a half-smile, she pushed it back to him. "While it's true I've had a small hand in raising you, I'm aware of the Guild's recent troubles."

"You are wonderous, as usual, Mira, but we recently acquired a new recruit. She just might be the answer to our troubles."

"Ohhh," She cooed in a teasing manner. "And what's her name?"

He chuckled amiably, almost a little shy. "Carissa. A black-haired beauty like yourself."

"Carissa…" Miravelle said her name thoughtfully. "Sounds like a Breton. Sounds short."

"With a temper that's shorter. Make no mistake: she will stab you in the face if she heard that."

Miravelle rested her chin on her hands, smirking at the Nord. "I can tell that you adore this girl."

"I have enjoyed teasing her thus far." He admitted shamelessly.

"Well, don't tease her too much. Her heart might explode. But I know that you're a gentleman, Brynjolf. You'll know the right time to take her face into your hands and make her melt."

A single, husky 'ha' left his throat joyfully. "Is the old man not with you?"

"Father's enjoying a drink at the Bee and Barb." She replied with a shake of her head.

"I suppose it's better that he doesn't see my face anyways. After all, he's not fond of his precious little girl talking to big bad Brynjolf."

"As I've told him-"

"The guild is not to steal from your home, yes. Everybody here knows that, Mira. Especially Vex. After all, it was _your_ iron dagger that struck her in her thigh. If I had known that it was your home that was the target for a break-in, it wouldn't have happened in the first place."

"I was going to say that as long your guild steals from the rich and the pompous and you do not harm those who can barely feed themselves… I turn a blind eye," She said. "Father never trusted you because of your profession, but I did take pity on you because I was the one who found you bleeding in the forests of Falkreath when you were just a young boy. I knew what you were, and I knew you weren't going to change. But you proved your loyalty to me by not stealing from me during the 3 months I took care of you."

"How could I? I was in so much pain."

"Bryn…" She warned in a playful draw of his name.

"I kid," He said with his hands up in truce. "The only way I could repay you was by convincing Mercer not to ever allow our thieves to rob your home."

"And I thoroughly appreciate that. I've seen the 'Protected' shadowmark carved upon the side of my home."

"You're welcome," He took sip of the mead. "You said you needed my help, but before that, I'd like to order an item from you."

"Oh?"

"A Daedric dagger,"

Her eyes widened as much as they would go. "No doubt a future present for your black-haired beauty?"

He simpered at her. "It's almost like you're psychic, lass."

"Ever since this dragon business, I've hardly been home," She admitted, not without some guilt for not returning to Lakeview Manor for so long. "But I'll be sure to start on it when it's all over."

"Ah yes, the dragon drama… When I heard that the Dragonborn carried a daedric sword, I knew that there was only one woman it could be. Are you doing alright?"

"Yes, Bryn. I'm getting by. Thank goodness for Father."

"Old man's still got spunk?"

"You know it."

Brynjolf decided that it was time to help Miravelle, and listen to her request. "So did you need from me, lass?"

She leaned forward a little. "I'm looking for an old man, possibly hiding out in the Ratways."

"An old man, eh? Yeah, I bet I know your guy. He's hiding out in the Ratway Warrens," He titled his head towards the door located to his right. "Paying us good coin for nobody to know about it. His room is the one with the door that doesn't match all the others."

She nodded. "Thanks, Bryn."

"Be careful, lass. Some of those High Elfs in gold armor blew through us minutes before you came, demanding for an old man as well."

"WHAT?" She shrieked, hurrying out of her seat. "I need to go!"

"Do you need me to come with you, lass?" He shot up from his seat as well.

She pulled her sword of its holster. "I've handled those merry men before. Not to worry, Bryn. Take care of your people, in case more come pouring in," She took a few steps, only to stop and turn to the Nord once more. "When all this is over, I will forge the greatest Daedric dagger your black-haired beauty has ever seen. You will probably have to keep her from jumping up and down in glee when you present it to her."

"Most likely," He tittered at that. "I will drop your payment in the Thieves' Cache barrel behind your home."

"Sweet boy…" Cupping his cheek, she placed a soft peck on the other. "Family doesn't pay."


	5. Doting

_I've brought Esbern back to Delphine. They were pleased to see each other, alive and well, after so long. Esbern told us that, until I had come long, he was sure that the world was going to end. But now that I'm here, we needed to find Alduin's Wall – a structure that could tell us how Alduin was first defeated in the Merethic Era, and it was located at Sky Haven Temple, an old Blades headquarters. It was protected by Forsworn, but we dealt with them swiftly._

_The walls were vast and filled with many Akaviri carvings, but Esbern pointed us to the one we needed. There was a group of ancient Nord warriors who defeated Alduin, and according to Esbern, they used a Shout to do so. None of us have any knowledge of such a Shout._

_Much to Delphine's dismay, I would have to ask the Greybeards if they knew of it. She may not want to involve them in this quest, but they were the ones who called me to High Hrothgar, to start me on this path. I reminded her of that. Firmly._

_There's one more thing about the wall. On the last panel, it talked about Alduin's return and his competing with the last Dragonborn._

_Last Dragonborn… I will make sure I do my duty, even if it costs me my life._

* * *

**Location: High Hrothgar  
29th of Morning Star**

"…"

"Did I say something wrong, Arngeir?"

"Where did you learn of that? Who have you been talking to?" He questioned her as if she had been caught with her hand in the boiled crème treat jar.

It was time to tell her master the truth about her recent activities. "I must admit that I have not been fully honest with you, Arngeir. Do forgive me for that. I should have returned to you the moment I had some information, but given the way Delphine speaks about the Greybeards, it's only fair for me to assume that you'd felt the same about the Blades."

"The Blades!" If he could have thrown his hands up in the air in pretend shock, he would have. "Of course! They specialize in meddling in matters they _barely_ understand. Their reckless arrogance knows no bounds! They have always sought to turn the Dragonborn from the path of wisdom!" Miravelle decided not to interrupt until his rant was over. "Have you learned nothing from us? Would you simply be a tool in the hands of the Blades, to be used for their own purposes?"

"My daughter has never been a _tool_ or a puppet for anyone. She is intelligent as she is fearless," Arvus then spoke, stepping forward to stand next to Miravelle. "After she retrieved the Horn for you as part of your test, what has happened? You have not offered any sort of help as to how she may defeat Alduin. Your only answer was that growing her gift too quickly would be too dangerous, so what is she to do? Do you not want to defeat Alduin?"

"Father…" She called for him in a soft, pleading manner to stop.

"What I want is irrelevant," Arngeir answered, his voice firm and unbroken. "This Shout was used once before, was it not? And here we are again! Have you considered that Alduin was not meant to be defeated? Those who overthrew him in ancient times only _postponed_ the day of reckoning? They did not stop it. If the world is meant to end, so be it. Let it end and be reborn."

His grim words almost broke Miravelle's heart. "Will you not help, Arngeir?"

"I _can't_ help, Dragonborn. Not now. Not until you return to the path of wisdom."

"Wisdom alone cannot help destroy the World-Eater-!"

"Father, please," She gripped his arm to stop him from continuing. "The Greybeards cannot help us if it is not their wish. We cannot force them to divert from their path – the path which they have taken all this time. It would be rude of us," She turned to the elder Nord. "Please do forgive my father; he loves me so. We will take our leave now." She continued to cling onto her father as they turned to leave.

" _Arngeir!_ " The tower began to shake, but not violent enough that the ground beneath them might give way. Dust fell from the cracks in the walls, and the Rolains held onto each other for support as Einarth spoke. " _Rok los Dovahkiin, Strundu'ul. Rok fen tinvaak Paarthurnax!_ "

All fell to a calm state after he had shut his mouth. Miravelle searched for Einarth, who stood behind Arngeir, so that she could give him a smile at his words. It had been weeks since this dragon business started, and during that time, she had learned the Dragon Language as much as she could. Einarth had said, " _Arngeir! She is Dovahkiin, Stormcrown. He will speak with Paarthurnax!_ "

"Dragonborn," Arngeir called, before letting go of a heavy sigh. "Wait…. Forgive me. I was... intemperate. I allowed my emotions to cloud my judgement. Master Einarth reminded me of my duty. The decision whether or not to help you is not mine to make."

"Please, Arngeir," She held out her hands to him so that she could take his. "Please do not apologize for adhering to what you believe in. You are only doing what you felt was true to you. I am simply grateful that you understand my plight."

Arngeir allowed for a small smile. "Kynareth has truly placed the voice of reason within you, Dragonborn," They let go of their hands. "As for this Shout, I cannot teach it to you because I do not know it. It is called "Dragonrend", but its Words of Power are unknown to us. We do not regret this loss. Dragonrend holds no place within the Way of the Voice."

She listened alertly, sensing the dread in Arngeir's tone.

"The knowledge of that Shout was lost in the time before history began. Perhaps only its creators ever knew it. But I am not the one to speak of it to you."

"This Shout sounds wicked."

He nodded. "It was created by those who had lived under the unimaginable cruelty of Alduin's Dragon Cult. Their whole lives were consumed with hatred for dragons, and they poured all their anger and hatred into this Shout. When you learn a Shout, you take it into your very being. In a sense, you become the Shout. In order to learn and use this Shout, you will be taking this evil into yourself."

Miravelle took in a deep breath before answering. "I will do what I must, in order to match up to Alduin and defeat him. At least, the evil may be contained between the two of us. So how may I learn this Shout, if it is lost?"

He attempted to contain his gloom before replying to her. "Only Paarthurnax, the master of our order, can answer that question, if he so chooses."

"Ah, yes. Paarthurnax. Your leader whom I haven't had the privilege of meeting."

"You weren't ready. You still aren't ready. But thanks to the Blades, you now have questions that only Paarthurnax can answer," Arngeir took a glimpse of Arvus. "I am afraid your father, however doting he is upon you as I have seen, cannot company you as you travel to the top of the mountain, where Paarthurnax resides."

"That is fine," Arvus spoke. "My daughter is more than capable of handling herself. I _am_ doting, as you have mentioned. Mira, my child," He got her attention. "I shall return to Lakeview Manor. It has been too long since we have been home."

"Alright, Father. I shall meet with Paarthurnax and return to you with what is to be done next."

* * *

**Location: Throat of the World**

The path to the top of the mountain, the 'Throat of the World', was protected by magical winds, ones that cover anyone who attempted to walk through them with coats of sheer frost. A Shout called 'Clear Skies', taught by Arngeir, made it easy to dispel the winds and proceed forward.

"Hello?" She called out as loud as she could. "I seek your guidance, Paarthurnax! Leader of the Greybeards! I am Dovahkiin!"

She received no reply. The sun shone warmly upon the mountain and the wind was minimal, enough for her to scan the entire area and find absolutely no one.

A mighty roar the rang through the air and Miravelle stood her ground, a quick hand unsheathing her Daedric sword from its holster. She readied the fireball destruction spell in her left and attempted her hardest to search for the dragon.

She heard the flap of its wings and while her mind knew it was from behind her, the dragon swooped past her at lightning speed, almost knocking her off her feet. Shaking off the snow that had been transferred to her face, she felt the area tremble as the dragon settled down in front of her.

Her instinct to use Unrelenting Force to give her some time came to her, but she hurriedly held her tongue when she realized that the pale yellow dragon did not move nor attack, but instead study her with its large, cloudy eyes.

" _Drem Yol Lok_!" She could feel its deep, gruff voice resonate in her bones. "Greetings, wunduniik. I am Paarthurnax. Who are you? What brings you to my strunmah... my mountain?"

A puckish smile came to her, one that she could not help. "Of course. A dragon! 'Paar-Thur-Nax' – 3 words of the Dragon Language make up a Shout. Should it not also make up the name of a dragon?"

The elder dragon lowered his head as a form of a bow. "I am as my father Akatosh made me. As are you... Dovahkiin."

Miravelle dropped a curtesy for the leader of the Greybeards. "It is an honor."

"Before we continue, mortal, know this: by long tradition, the elder speaks first. Hear my Thu'um! Feel it in your bones. Match it, if you are Dovahkiin!"

Her confusion faded away the moment he twisted his neck toward the Word Wall and breathed hot fire onto it. " _Yol...Toor Shul_!"

When the fire dissolved, she saw that one of the words engraved into the wall was glowing. And it was calling to her. As if she was in a trance, she walked over to learn it. Her hand ran over the word carving and she absorbed the word _Yol_.

"A gift, Dovahkiin," She turned back to the dragon. " _Yol_. Understand Fire as the _dov_ do."

It felt as if she was taking in his soul as she took in his understanding of the word.

"Now, show me what you can do. Greet me not as mortal, not as elf! But as _dovah_!"

_He wants me to use the Fire Breath Shout on him?_ She inhaled deeply, prayed that she would not roast him alive, and yelled, " _YOL_!"

The ball of fire hit him, but he did not burn. It was almost as if his scales absorbed the flames. "Aaah... yes! _Sossedov los mul_. The Dragonblood runs strong in you. It is long since I had the pleasure of speech with one of my own kind."

"I expect so," She gazed around. "Especially up here, on this mountain. It must be lonely."

" _Evenaar Bahlok_. There are many hungers it is better to deny than to feed. _Dreh ni nahkip_. Discipline against the lesser aids in _qahnaar_... denial of the greater." He replied. She obtained that that was his reasoning of being alone here on the mountain. "I have expected you. _Prodah_. You would not come all this way for _tinvaak_ with an old dovah. No. You seek your weapon against Alduin."

"Though I suspect that you do not know it either."

Paarthurnax gave her a questioning "Hm?".

"The Dragonrend Shout is designed for dragons, is it not? How may a dragon use it?"

He growled softly and in agreement. "It cannot be known to me. Your kind - _joorre_ \- mortals - created it as a weapon against the _dov_ … the dragons. Our _hadrimme_ , our minds cannot even… comprehend its concepts."

She hung her head in sorrow. "Then all is lost. The Blades do not know it, the Greybeards do not know it, and you do not know it. I do not know how to truly defeat Alduin without him striking me down first."

"Drem. All in good time," Paarthurnax told her gently. "First, I have a question for you. Why do you want to learn this Thu'um? Alduin... _Zeymah_. The elder brother. Gifted, grasping and troublesome, as is so often the case with firstborn. But why? Why must you stop Alduin?"

"It is written in my fate. What I am destined to do, before my Mer blood finally gives out."

"If you can see your destiny clearly, your sight is clearer than mine," He said, satisfied. " _Dahmaan_ \- remember, Alduin also follows his destiny, as he sees it. But, I bow before your certainty. In a way, I envy you. The curse of much knowledge is often indecision."

"I… can understand. In a small sense," She told him, in reference to being over a century old. "But my father… the wonderful man that he is, told me that life is a gift. No matter how terrible the world, we must find a way to live. The world must not end. It cannot. No one can decide that for us."

" _Pruzah_. As good a reason as any," Paarthurnax's voice filled with mirth. "There are many who feel as you do, although not all. Some would say that all things must end, so that the next can come to pass," He craned his neck at the baby blue sky. "Perhaps this world is simply the Egg of the next _kalpa_? _Lein vokiin_? Would you stop the next world from being born?"

She smiled before answering. "I cannot. No one can. I will do what I can now, and the future will have to take care of itself."

" _Paaz_. A fair answer," He sounded as if that was the response he had been waiting for all this time. "Ro fus... maybe you only balance the forces that work to quicken the end of this world. Even we who ride the currents of Time cannot see past Time's end... _Wuldsetiid los tahrodiis_. Those who try to hasten the end, may delay it. Those who work to delay the end, may bring it closer,"

He then bowed once more in an apologetic manner. "But you have indulged my weakness for speech long enough. _Krosis_. Now I will answer your question. Do you know why I live here, at the peak of the _Monahven_ – what you name 'Throat of the World'?"

_Answering my question with another question?_ "I figure that it is safe for you."

"True. But this is the most sacred mountain in Skyrim. _Zok revak strunmah_. The great mountain of the world. Here the ancient Tongues, the first mortal masters of the voice, brought Alduin to battle and defeated him."

"Using the Dragonrend Shout."

"Yes and no. _Viik nuz ni kron_. Alduin was not truly defeated, either. If he was, you would not be here today, seeking to... defeat him. The Nords of those days used the Dragonrend Shout to cripple Alduin. But this was not enough. _Ok mulaag unslaad_. It was the _Kel_ – the Elder Scroll. They used it to... cast him adrift on the currents of Time."

"The Elder Scroll?" Her forehead creased with puzzlement. "I have heard of it, but I do not enough nearly enough to understand its use."

Paarthurnax thought deeply as to how to explain it to the Dragonborn. "It is... an artifact from outside time. It does not exist, but it has always existed. _Rah wahlaan_. They are...hmm... fragments of creation. The Kelle... Elder Scrolls, as you name them, they have often been used for prophecy. Yes, your prophecy comes from an Elder Scroll. But this is only a small part of their power. _Zofaas suleyk_."

The dragon watched as the Dragonborn's faced flooded with realization. "It makes sense… Alduin resurfacing. He did not die. He was just… sent forward from the Merethic Era."

"Not intentionally. Some hoped he would be gone forever, forever lost. _Meyye_. I knew better. _Tiid bo amativ_. Time flows ever onward. Which is why I have lived here. For thousands of mortal years, I have waited. I knew where he would emerge but not when."

"It is no small task, your waiting. I commend you for that," Miravelle said with a bent of her head. "Should I find this scroll, am I to bring it to you?"

"Return it here, to the _Tiid-Ahraan_. Then... _Kelle vomindok_. Nothing is certain with such things... But I believe the Scroll's bond with _Tiid-Ahraan_ will allow you a... a seeing, a vision of the moment of its creation. Then you will feel - know - Dragonrend, in the power of its first expression. You will see them... _wuth fadonne_... my friends - Hakon, Gormlaith, Felldir."

"The Nord Heros."

"The first mortals that I taught the Thu'um - the first Tongues. The leaders of the rebellion against Alduin. They were mighty, in their day. Even to attempt to defeat Alduin... _sahrot hunne_. The Nords have had many heroes since, but none greater."

"And you are right to think so. In this case, do you know where I may find an Elder Scroll?"

He gave her a shake of his head. " _Krosis_. No. I know little of what has passed below in the long years I have lived here. You are likely better informed than I."

"I may have some ideas," She then smiled at the elder dragon. "I am pleased to have known you, Paarthurnax. If only the few other dragons that have crossed me these few weeks were like you."

A throaty laugh left the elder dragon. "If only."


	6. Elder Scrolls Mishap

**Location: Lakeview Manor  
29** **th** **of Morning Star**

Night had fallen when Miravelle Rolain arrived at her mansion in Falkreath, Lakeview Manor. She could see the moon past the tall trees, large and shining, while the stars dotted the rest of the sky. She put Storm in her stable, greeted her carriage driver Gunjar, her two guard dogs, and her housecarl, Rayya.

When she entered her room, the aroma of freshly cooked food filled the air. _Ah, Father is cooking up some venison. Knowing him, he'll also have an apple pie waiting for me._ "Father?"

"Ah, there you are, child!" He placed a bowl on their dining table before meeting up with his daughter to give her a hug. "Do you have the Shout?"

"Unfortunately, no," She admitted forlornly. "There is still much more I would have to do before I can find it." She spoke as she strolled over to her bedroom.

"The leader of the Greybeards does not know?" Arvus asked.

She removed her gauntlets and let them fall on the bed. "He does not. A dragon would not be able to comprehend a Shout that is meant for their kind."

Arvus held up a hand to stop her from continuing. "Wait. A dragon? The leader is a dragon?"

"One that assisted humanity in overthrowing Alduin's rule, yes."

It was certainly a huge piece of information for Arvus to take in. He shook his head in some attempt to brush off the puzzlement. "My word. Well, if he does not know the Shout, then what do we do now?"

"Paarthurnax said to find an Elder Scroll – a tool that could help me see into the past, to where the ancient Nord warriors used it to first defeat Alduin."

"An Elder Scroll…" Arvus repeated thoughtfully. "I do not know any, but I suspect we can take it to the College of Winterhold. There should be information in the library."

"That is what Arngeir said."

"Well then, we shall leave first thing tomorrow," He said. "You go change and come for dinner, child. I've also made you an apple pie."

_There it is._

* * *

**Location: Arch-Mage's Quarters, College of Winterhold  
** **30th** **of Morning Star**

Whenever Arvus Rolain had the time, he would almost certainly use it to revisit the College of Winterhold, the place where he honed his magic skills and became a powerful wizard. It was also the place where he met Miravelle's mother, Hillevi, a seasoned warrior with the desire to learn magic for the first time. While it was clear she was never going to get far with magic, he kept tutoring her, just so he could be next to her.

"Arvus! It's so good to see you again, friend!"

"You as well, my friend!" Arvus enveloped his old friend, Savos Aren, in a hug.

"Now, how is it that you're older than I am, and yet you look better?" Savos questioned playfully.

"Magic?" Arvus replied just as lightheartedly, shrugging both shoulders.

"Ah ha, there's that wit," He wiggled a finger at him. "We have missed you here, Arvus. The College could always use your experience, as we have before."

"As you well know, I am a full-time father."

"Oh," Savos took Miravelle's hand and kissed the top of it, as a gentleman would. "You are still a beauty, my lady."

The Dragonborn beamed at that. "I thank you, sir."

"Are you doing well, what with all this dragon business?"

"Yes," She nodded. "I am honored to be Akatosh's chosen."

"And He made the right choice," Savos returned the smile. "Now, what it is I can help with?"

"It is pertaining to the dragons. I have been looking for a way to defeat them, and it would appear that I would need an Elder Scroll."

"Well, the College would be thrilled to have something like that in our possession. However, I believe that there are some books in our library you can make use of. Come. Let us speak to our librarian, Urag gro-Shub."

* * *

Even if the Orc had an Elder Scroll lying around, Miravelle was sure that he would not give it to her, Dragonborn or not. Instead, Urag could only offer her two books based on the Elder Scrolls. Arvus took to the other book, _Effects of the Elder Scrolls_. It was sundown by the time she had finished the first book, _Ruminations of the Elder_ Scrolls, written by a man named Septimus Signus. It had taken her so long because the man's script was incomprehensible.

Miravelle returned to Urag to discuss about Septimus, where she found out that the Imperial is an Elder Scrolls lore specialist, but had not been back to the College in quite some time, after becoming obsessed with Dwemer and retreating somewhere to the north to study an ancient artifact. Conversing with some other college teachers revealed that she would have to look for a remote ice carven.

The Rolains did indeed find the Imperial inside his outpost, with an enormous Dwemer device taking up half of the place. Talking to him revealed that he was just as incomprehensible as his writing.

"Elder Scrolls. Indeed. The Empire. They absconded with them. Or so they think. The ones they saw. The ones they thought they saw. I know of one. Forgotten. Sequestered. But I cannot go to it, not poor Septimus, for I... I have arisen beyond its grasp."

When Arvus questioned about the location of one, they could deduce that one was indeed here, in Skyrim, much to their relief.

Septimus agreed to help the Dragonborn, but only if they scratched each other's backs. They would have to travel to Blackreach, located under Tower Mzark in Alftand. He gave them two items, a Blank Lexicon and an Attunement Sphere, along with a complicated explanation on how to use them. The Rolains had to believe that they were keys of some sorts, and they would just have to figure it out by themselves.

* * *

"RUN, MIRA!"

"HURRY, FATHER!"

After crawling through the ancient Dwarven structure, battling what seemed like countless waves of Dwemer and Falmer, Miravelle and Arvus used the two items Septimus gave them to unlock the Elder Scroll from its tomb.

Now they were running for their lives, after coming face-to-face with the largest Dwemer construction, the Centurion.

"We cannot keep this up, Father! We must fight!"

"You're right!" Arvus stopped in his tracks and immediately threw the incinerate spell at the Centurion. "Keep going, Mira!"

"What?!" She came to a halt, still holding onto the Elder Scroll.

The high-level fire destruction spell was doing a respectable job of slowing down the huge construction. "You must leave with the scroll! I can handle our friend here."

"I am not leaving you!" She declared, chucking the scroll to the side. She knew she could not get close enough to use her Daedric sword, so she assisted her father by using the sparks spell with both of her hands.

The Centurion certainly did not appreciate the addition of another destruction spell, because it looked directly at the Dragonborn and blasted a gush of steam onto her.

She turned and jumped away to avoid any contact, landing on the stone ground.

"Over here!" Arvus taunted the Centurion, in a desperate attempt to draw it away from his daughter.

With an unlikely speed, the Centurion thwacked the Dark Elf, and he crashed into the wall before hitting the ground.

"Father!" Miravelle cried out.

The Centurion turned its attention to her once more.

She felt a fire growing within her soul, something she had not felt before. At least, not before Paarthurnax taught her the first word in the Fire Breath Shout. "YOL!"

The large Dwavern creature fell to its left knee when hit with that gout of fire that contained all the anger Miravelle had. She took her Daedric sword to its other knee, striking it over and over again without rest, not giving it any chance to retaliate. When she knew it was going to, she drove her sword into the gap between its head and chest, taking off its head completely.

She took a moment to catch her breath, before hurrying over to her fallen father. "Father!" She called out, tears coming to her green eyes.

Arvus gripped his side and Miravelle witnessed blood seeping through his long fingers. He must have gotten nicked when the Centurion swatted him like a fly. She hurried and casted the 'Close Wounds' restoration spell on him, knowing that he would be too weak to do it himself.

"Ah, I am fine, child," He said through gritted teeth. "I have taught you that spell well. It's just… I'll need some help getting to my feet."

"Yes, of course!" She said in a sniff, putting his arm around her neck and lifting him up. "Can you walk?"

He leaned against the wall, still holding onto his side. "Yes, of course. Your father isn't _that_ old. Just some pain," He removed his hand to look past the blood and at his closed wound. "Bless this spell. Do you have the scroll, child?"

"Uh…" That was the last thing on her mind. She scanned the area to find the scroll a good distance away and lying on the ground. She picked it up and found not a single scratch on it. "It is safe… I think…" She did not know if the fall caused any internal damage, and she did not want to find out. Who knew what would happen if she had tried to open it here, instead of at the Throat of the World.

"You did it, child," A smile broke through his pained expression. "You have the scroll. Now time to take it to the dragon."

"But Father, you're hurt…"

"I know that look on your face, child. I will return home. It is a good thing we came by carriage."

She managed a short laugh at his correct assumption of her feelings. "You know me so well, Father."

"But of course," Arvus ran a hand over her head. "If not me, then who else, my little Dragonborn?"


	7. First Battle With Alduin

**Location: Throat of the World  
1st of Sun's Dawn**

"You have it. The Kel - the Elder Scroll. _Tood kreh... qalos_. Time shudders at its touch."

"You consider this a bad idea. I understand."

Miravelle hugged the Elder Scroll closed to her chest as she made her way to the top of the mountain, only to stop and look up when the elder dragon's disheartened voice boomed.

Paarthurnax sat upon his World Wall, eyes cloudy and with despair. "There is no question. You are doom-driven. _Kogaan_ Akatosh. The very bones of the earth are at your disposal."

She removed her satchel and placed it against the ancient wall. "I will do what I must, Paarthurnax. Assist me further if you wish, but I will not stop."

"Go then. Fulfill your destiny. Take the Scroll to the Time-Wound. Do not delay. Alduin will be coming. He cannot miss the signs."

_Signs?_

* * *

_**Gods! I… can't move! Wha… This is… This is the Throat of the World. The skies are crimson red. Meteors? Alduin brought those in Helgan, where father and I witnessed his terror for the first time when we visited the little village.** _

_**What the… There… there are three humans, standing in front of me. They must be the Nord heroes - Hakon One-Eye, Gormlaith Golden-Hilt, and Felldir the Old**_.

_"They did not have Dragonrend. Once we bring him down, I promise I will have his head."_

_**Dragonrend!** _

_"You do not understand. Alduin cannot be slain like a lesser dragon. He is beyond our strength. Which is why I brought the Elder Scroll."_

_"Felldir! We agreed not to use it!" Hakon protests._

_"I never agreed. And if you are right, I will not need it."_

_"No. We will deal with Alduin ourselves, here and now."_

_"We shall see soon enough. Alduin approaches!"_

_**And there he is.** _

" _Joor… ZAH FRUL!"_

_**Joor… Zah… Frul… I… Those words are forcing themselves into my head…!** _

_"Nivahriin joorre! What have you done? What twisted Words have you created?! Tahrodiis Paarthurnax! My teeth to his neck! But first... dir ko maar. You will die in terror, knowing your final fate... To feed my power when I come for you in Sovngarde!"_

_"If I die today, it will not be in terror. You feel fear for the first time, worm. I see it in your eyes. Skyrim will be free!"_

_**Oh, Gods! No! Gormlaith!** _

_"No, damn you! It's no use! Use the Scroll, Felldir! Now!"_

_"Hold, Alduin on the Wing! Sister Hawk, grant us your sacred breath to make this contract heard! Begone, World-Eater! By words with older bones than your own we break your perch on this age and send you out! You are banished! Alduin, we shout you out from all our endings unto the last!"_

_"Faal Kel...?! Nikriinne..."_

_"You are banished!"_

_**Alduin's gone… Disappeared into time…** _

_"It worked... you did it..."_

_"Yes, the World-Eater is gone... may the spirits have mercy on our souls."_

_**Felldir… You knew otherwise, did you not?** _

* * *

The Elder Scrolls slipped out of Miravelle's hand and landed in the snow, followed by the Dragonborn herself. Exiting the vision knocked every energy out of her being. She managed to fall just to her knees, eyes flattering vigorously to shake off the lingering effects of the vision.

" _Bahloki nahkip sillesejoor_!" A new, yet familiar voice thundered from above her. "My belly is full of the souls of your fellow mortals, Dovahkiin! Die now and await your fate in Sovngarde!"

_Gods damn it, he's here. Argh, and my head is still spinning! That shout… it forced itself into my head…_

"Lost funt! You are too late, Alduin!"

_Paarthurnax…_

"Dovahkiin! Use Dragonrend, if you know it!"

She felt a second pair of giant wings flap, and she could only conclude that it was Paarthurnax, joining his brother in the skies in battle.

"Dovahkiin, you call yourself? Arrogant mortal!"

She looked up to black dragon, a wave of rage coursing through her. She had had enough. Enough of everything.

Paarthurnax attempted a fire breath Shout while his brother had his attention on the Dragonborn, but the firstborn glided away with swift speed. With what felt like an incredible amount of strength, Miravelle rose to her feet, not without her sword and a wince.

"I will feast on your soul in Sovngarde!" Alduin glided towards her.

She took in a deep breath, steadied herself, and shouted, " _Joor_ … ZAH FRUL!"

The Shout hit him like a punch and Miravelle had to jumped to her right to avoid his crash-landing. Blue swirls of light encased the World-Eater in a bind, giving Miravelle some time to return to her feet, that Shout having taken everything out of her. _Oh Gods, that Shout! My poor head!_

"You DARE use that Thu'um on me?!" Alduin questioned in horror, his sentence getting cut short at the end when Paarthurnax connected with the fire breath Shout this time.

Miravelle drove her Daedric sword into his right wing and dragged it across with all her might, inciting a loud pained roar from the black dragon. She missed his attempt at swatting her away with his injured wing by running to his front and driving her sword into his jaw.

"You will pay for your defiance!"

"IISS!" A thin coat of ice shut him right up. She grabbed whatever energy she had to put it into one final Shout, which she prayed to the heavens would be enough to stop him. "Fus… RO DAH!"

The unrelenting force Shout rang in the black dragon's ears and he halted his struggling, as if he was stripped of all power.

" _Meyz mul_ , Dovahkiin…" Alduin said in a low tone, his voice rumbling through Miravelle.

She saw the blue swirls of the Dragonrend Shout dissipate like smoke and it made her heart fall. She was standing right there, in front of him…

"You have become strong,"

"Are you surrendering?" She asked as she backed a little, catching her breath.

"Foolish _Joor_! I am Al-du-in, Firstborn of Akatosh! _Mulaagi zok lot_! I cannot be slain here, by you or anyone else! You cannot prevail against me. I will outlast you... mortal!"

Speedily, Alduin spread his wings and took to the skies, knocking Miravelle off her feet once more. She remained on the snowy ground, desperate to breathe and regain energy.

"Dovahkiin?" Paarthurnax settled upon his Word Wall and extended his head towards the fallen Miravelle. "Dovahkiin, _alok_. Arise. Take it slow."

"Perhaps I am not as young as I thought I was…" She reached out to grab on of his horns and hosted herself up. "That Shout… When I used it, I felt it resonating from within my own soul. More so than all the other Shouts."

"As it should, Dovahkiin," He said. " _Lot krongrah_! You truly have the Voice of a _dovah_. Alduin's allies will think twice after this victory."

"He fly away, like the cowardly lizard that he is!" She halted to breathe once more. "It is not much of a victory…"

" _Ni liivrah hin_ mere. True, this is not the final _krongah_ \- victory. But not even the heroes of old were able to defeat Alduin in open battle. Alduin always was _pahlok_ \- arrogant in his power. _Uznahgar_ _paar_. He took dominaton as his birthright. This should shake the loyalty of the _dov_ who serve him."

_Perhaps it is a small victory after all…_ "Where would that terror have gone to this time?"

"Yes... one of his allies could tell us. _Motmahus_... But it will not be easy to... convince one of them to betray him. Perhaps the _hofkahsejun_ \- the palace in Whiterun... Dragonsreach. It was originally built to house a captive _dovah_. A fine place to trap one of Alduin's allies, hmm?"

"Indeed. Although the Jarl of Whiterun may not share the same thought."

"Hmm, yes. But you su'um is strong. I do not doubt you can convince him of the need."

"How kind of you," Miravelle managed a smile. "But I must see to my father before anything else. I thank you for your council, Paarthurnax."

"Lok, Thu'um."


	8. Burned to Ashes

**Location: Lakeview Manor**   
**1st of Sun's Dawn**

Storm brought her owner home at swift speed, as Miravelle was anxious to see her father's condition after that bout with the Dwavern centurion. She had healed his wounds with a restoration spell, but he still required some amount of rest, which was why he returned to their Falkreath home by their private carriage.

As she approached their manor, she noticed a small portion of the sky blackened with smoke. She furrowed her eyebrows at the sight, not without her heart growing heavy with a little concern, considering that her home was nearing. When Lakeview Manor came into view, it became clear that the reason for the black smoke… was her manor being on fire.

" **NO**!" She screamed louder than she ever had in her life, almost falling off of Storm in an attempt to get off of her. A handful of Falkreath townsfolk were present, including Gunjar, her carriage driver and Rayya, her Housecarl, and all of them were throwing buckets of water at her home in a futile attempt to calm the fire. "Father!" She shrieked, grabbing the attention of those present.

"My Thane!" Rayya ran up to her.

"EVERYBODY, STAND BACK! TAKE COVER IN THE STABLES!" She ordered, before turning to the skies and shouting, "STRUN!"

Greying clouds gathered overhead in a rumbling wrath – Miravelle's wrath. Thunder clapped and lightning cracked, before a storm started coming down over Miravelle and her burning manor.

Miravelle knew she could not do anything, not while there were still flames. She could only stand there, get drenched in the rain and start to sob the more her mind wandered to the worst.

When the flames finally died down, she broke into a sprint for the main doors, but jumped backwards in a fright when the doors broke apart and fell. She looked up to find more and more pieces of the roof to cave inward and fall into the manor.

"GODS DAMN IT, NO!" She screeched, her heart pounding at a drum from the Bard's College. "FATHER!"

"My Thane!" Rayya grabbed Miravelle's arms to stop her. "You cannot go in! Everything's falling apart! You'll get hurt!"

"Let me go, Rayya! I must get my father!"

Just before the final flame died down, a small explosion went off towards the back of her manor, scaring everyone in the area greatly.

Falling to her knees, Miravelle cried harder than she ever had in her life.

* * *

For more than a hundred years, Lakeview Manor had been standing tall by the river. Hillevi Rolain had purchased the massive house just after becoming Thane of Falkreath. It was mainly to prove to her own parents that she could survive on her own, before becoming a place to store her weapons and treasures collected from years of travelling and fighting. It was the house she shared with Arvus Rolain and where her daughter, Miravelle, was born.

Today, it laid as ashes near Miravelle's feet.

The Storm Call Shout used by the Dragonborn had managed to douse the flames that had engulfed the manor, but majority of the damage had already been done. Although the walls remained intact for the most part, much of the roof had been blackened and had caved inward.

Miravelle remained on the ground, tears continuing to silently stream down her face as she watched the remaining smoke dance into the air. Perhaps half an hour or more had past, and she still did not hear a sound from her father, who had been inside the manor as it burned.

Rayya, Miravelle's housecarl, lowered herself next to her Thane, with one hand on her shoulder. "My Thane?"

"You were not harmed," Miravelle then spoke, her voice monotonos. "You could not reach my father?"

"I wanted to. He… ordered me to take your chest and leave the manor,"

The mention of a chest tore Miravelle's attention away from the manor and to Rayya.

"It is undamaged," Rayya turned her head towards the chest, which was on the ground near her stable, where she had hauled it to. "After I had dragged it out, the flames became too big for me to go back in."

"Oh, Father…" A new sob came to her. "Of course he would have you put priority on the chest over his life…"

"Isn't it not your mother's chest?" Rayya asked.

"It is…" The Dragonborn got to her feet to stroll over to the chest. "Father placed a protection spell on it, but he did not want to take a chance with the flames of a dragon…" Gripping the chest's cover, she opened it, a wave of relief washing over her. Her mother's travelling gear, weapons, and some purses filled with coin were intact. "Everything is safe," Miravelle then looked at her housecarl. "Thank you for your bravery, Rayya."

The fine features on the Reguard's face stiffened and she shook her head. "It was cowardice, my Thane. I should have returned for your father."

"You would have perished along with him if you had. And you acted on his orders. You did your duty," Miravelle stood up to meet with her. "Please do not blame yourself."

"I will never _not_ blame myself, my Thane."

"The one who is to be blamed is the dragon who did this."

"My lady," Gunjar, Miravelle's carriage driver spoke up. "That would be the black one, with skin like spikes."

That certainly got Miravelle's attention. "Black dragon?"

"'Yes, my lady,"

"How… did it know that this was the Dragonborn's home?" Rayya questioned, knowing that the black dragon was Alduin, the one Miravelle is to kill.

"We… just got done with our first battle… at the top of High Hrothgar…" Miravelle answered, her mind wondering.

"A coincidence, perhaps? We _are_ nearby High Hrothgar after all," Gunjar said.

"And Falkreath suffered some fire damage as well by the same dragon." Rayya continued.

"It left a path of destruction just after its defeat. Perhaps it was a coincidence after all."

Rayya nodded at him, then noticed the Dragonborn's rage-filled face. "My Thane?"

Miravelle faced her home, fists clenching, heart pounding. "I _will_ murder that cowardly lizard. If it's the last thing I do."


	9. A Truce

**Location: Lakeview Manor  
1** **st** **of Sun's Dawn**

* * *

"Rayya, Gunjar. The two of you have served my family well for all these years. Words cannot express how much I appreciate everything you have done for me. I thank you for your individual services. The two of you are dismissed."

The housecarl and the cart driver exchanged the most horrified of looks.

"With all due respect, my Thane-"

"Pardon my interruption, Rayya, but I will also no longer be Thane. I should have revoked the title the moment I began my Dragonborn journey; I haven't been around to protect Falkreath. What kind of a Thane am I?"

"The kind that has made this little town safe for almost 50 years!" Gunjar retorted.

"And the kind that has made that insufferable Bolund's head spin ever since he was born!" Rayya added with just as much aggravation.

"You cannot dismiss us, Miravelle. We will always be loyal to you." Gunjar said, his tone having softened.

Miravelle Rolain was not putting in any effort into hiding her dejected expression. "I have no more home for you to take me to, and I have no more home for you to watch over. There is nothing left. Perhaps it is a sign from Akatosh, but I must take the remainder of my Dragonborn journey alone."

Gunjar and Rayya glanced at each other once more, now partially convinced that Miravelle had given up on them.

"Please," She pleaded in an almost-whisper. "As my final request from the both of you."

"Let me at least take you around Skyrim for the rest of your journey. There is no need to pay me."

"You can leave your chest at the Dead Man's Drink and I can watch over it. Until you rebuild."

Their declarations made her heart warm, and a smile formed. "You both are too kind. Truly. Thank you. Alright. We will set up at the Dead Man's Drink and tomorrow we leave for Whiterun."

"So… soon?" Rayya questioned.

"There is no time. Alduin has gone to regain his strength, no doubt. There is no time for me to waste. I must press on."

"You can send a courier to the Jarl of Whiterun. There is no need to go there personally."

"I must, Gunjar. I am the Dragonborn; it would be rude of me to ask for his assistance and yet not show my face," Miravelle insisted, but then produced another smile as she patted Rayya's shoulder. "I will be fine, my friends. I probably would not be, if you two were not here."

* * *

**Location: Whiterun  
3** **rd** **of Sun's Dawn**

"I must have misheard you, Dragonborn. I thought you asked me to help you trap a dragon in my palace."

"That is exactly want I am requesting, my Jarl. As you may have heard, Alduin, the World-Eater, has returned, and as Dragonborn, I am the only one who can defeate him.

"Of course, I understand that. But what does this have to do with trapping a dragon?"

"The dragon I aim to entrap can provide me with the location as to where Alduin escaped to, after I had just come close to defeating him."

That piece of information almost brought Jarl Balgruuf to his feet in astonishment. "By Ysmir! You went to war with the World-Eater! And lived!"

"Yet he escaped." Miravelle answered monotonously.

"But you proved that you can do it," He said, settling back into his seat. "I want to help you, Dragonborn. And I will. But I need your help first."

_Can't expect something for nothing._ "What can I do, my Jarl?"

"Ulfric and General Tullius are both just waiting for me to make a wrong move. Do you think they will sit idle while a dragon is slaughtering my men and burning my city?"

"If they were generous men. But I understand your concerns and where they are coming from. The Greybeards had the same concerns, and that is why they have offered to host a peace council. To ease the fighting until the dragons are gone." _Although convincing the old man took all the breath out of me. Took a lot of time. Perhaps I would have reached Father quicker if I hadn't bothered with the Greybeards at first._

"Then it's settled. I will help you trap your dragon once there is a ceasefire."

Miravelle nodded at that, her mission at Whiterun having been completed. "I will leave to speak to both men immediately."

"Please, the sun has set. Join us for dinner and spend the night here."

Miravelle halted her action of turning away to leave. _Damn it. Of all the time for people to be nice._

The Jarl's features softened as he proceeded to explain himself. "I can see that you are tired. And your heart is weary from the loss of your father. You need to rest."

Every smile she had to form felt like a chore. "My Jarl is too kind. Thank you."

* * *

**Location: Solitude  
5** **th** **of Sun's Dawn**

_Solitude. I had wanted to travel here and get more Firebrand Wine for... for Father. His favorite. There's no point now, is there?_

"A peace council? What for? There is nothing to discuss as long as that traitor Ulfric is in arms against his rightful Emperor."

Miravelle was looking at a general, a veteran of many a battles and wars. Perhaps that is why his face always reflected a sort of exhaustion. Perhaps he was missing his home and having to live in Skyrim provided zero comfort.

"The dragon menace, General. I require the use of Dragonsreach in Whiterun to capture a dragon and interrogate it, but I cannot do that while there is a Civil War. Whiterun will become exposed. And I am aware that that is something that both sides are looking for."

She was not sure if he willingly ignored her last sentence or did not hear much after the words, 'dragon menace'. "Well, the dragons are getting to be a problem. But I wasn't sent to Skyrim to fight dragons. My job is to quell this rebellion, and I intend to do just that, dragons or no dragons."

"If the dragons win, there will be no you and no rebellion for you to quell. Everyone will die or be enslaved."

Tullius shook his head at that, a sigh leaving him, like he was in two minds.

"The Greybeards request of this. Can the Empire truly afford to turn away the Greybeards?"

_That_ certainly elicited a response from him. "Nords and their traditions…"

Being half-Nord, Miravelle took a little offense to that. She was proud of her Dark Elf half, as well as her Nord half. "It is our way of life. We certainly do not appreciate it when others come in to tell us that we cannot have our traditions that harm absolutely no one," Before he could gather some sort of response, she quickly followed with, "So what will it be, General? Will you come to the peace council on the 14th?"

The general ultimately decided to leave her comment alone. He certainly did not have the time to argue with the Dragonborn. "Yes, yes. For all the good that it will do."

"Try to have _some_ faith, General. There is already so little of it to go around."

* * *

**Location: Palace of the Kings, Windhelm  
7** **th** **of Sun's Dawn**

_And the last time I was here, I was also with Father. Nine Divines, can I not travel anywhere without my heart breaking? Should I just stay at the Falkreath inn and curl into a ball on the bed?_

After speaking to Jorleif and requesting for an audience with the Jarl, Miravelle waited in the throne room, not without her mind wandering. She knew that she had to take some time to grieve for her father. She _knew_.

_But there's no time._

"Dragonborn," Her title exited his throat in a low, gentle rumble. "I did not expect to see you so soon,"

Miravelle turned to the Jarl with a small bow. "Talos' blessing, Jarl Ulfric. I have come to speak with you on an important matter."

Ulfric glanced around momentarily to find her father. "You come alone, Dragonborn? What of your father?"

"Dead," She answered instantly. "Murdered by Alduin in our own home, shortly after our bout. He's escaped, but I aim to find him. But if I aim to find him, I am to trap a different dragon in Dragonsreach to interrogate it, and if I am to do that, I require a ceasefire between the Empire and the Stormcloaks. That is why I am here."

Her apparent indifference at her father's death troubled the Jarl. The way her eyes drooped, the fact that there was no poise in her posture, that fact that there was no light on her face. However, the mention of a ceasefire captured his curiosity. "A ceasefire? You would request for such a thing, as if it was possible?"

"The Greybeards agreed to host, so really it is them who are requesting for a truce."

Of course, the mention of his former masters would have his fullest attention. "I have the greatest respect for the Greybeards, of course. And the dragon attacks are a growing plague. But the political situation is still delicate. Not all the Jarls are fully committed to supporting me as High King. I can't afford to appear weak. I'm sorry, Dragonborn, but I can't agree to this unless Tullius himself will be there."

_You and Tullius and your inflated egos. I could just punch the Oblivion out of the two of you._ She let out a sigh through her nose, as if she was trying to find the energy to speak. "The General has already agreed to attend. I've come here from Solitude."

Ulfric relaxed his entire face, pleasantly surprised to hear such a piece of news. "Well then, that changes everything, doesn't it? Then I will attend. I'll give him one last chance to quit Skyrim with his tail between his legs."

"Then it's settled. It will be on the 14th. I trust that it will be enough time to handle any current affairs both sides may have and attend."

"It should be."

"Good. That is all from me, then. Good day, my Jarl." With another little bow, she spun around to leave.

"I'm curious, Dragonborn. Where does your allegiance lie?"

_That… is an interesting question._ Miravelle faced him, slowly.

"You greeted us with Talos' blessings. That somewhat tells me where your loyalties lie."

She did not want to answer any questions that were not related to dragons. She wanted to run away, perhaps deep into a cave somewhere where no one could hear her scream. She felt as if she was drowning. She wanted to drink until she could fall asleep.

If anything, she felt as if she wanted to _die_.

Yet, somehow, she reached deep into her dragon soul to find some patience. Although she could not shake much of the sarcasm off. "Concerned, my Jarl? That the Dragonborn might join the Imperials? Which gives them an advantage in battle?"

Witnessing the slight scrunch of his strong Nordic features, she faked half a smile. "Forgive me for my words. A Civil War is the last thing on my mind. Not when there are dragons who do not care about sides. I also have no allegiances because I do not all the facts of both sides, which may be a little difficult. Smoke and ashes are just a part of a Civil War," With that, she concluded with, "Will that be all, Jarl Ulfric?"

Her father had died. Not just died, but he had been murdered, and she could not be there to do anything about it.

No one understood that more than the Jarl of Windhelm.

"Just one more thing, Dragonborn. I would like to offer my condolences. Your father appeared to be a fine man."

There was sincerity in that. She could tell. It was what broke through her barrier and allowed for a genuine smile at the thought of her father and his amazing life. "The finest. Thank you for your condolences. I will see you on the 14th."

"Until we meet then."


	10. Anger

**Location: Grey Quarter, Windhelm  
7th of Sun's Dawn **

The howling wind continued to blow through Windhelm when Miravelle exited the Palace of the Kings to head for the New Gnisis Cornerclub. It was like the sky was always grey for this city, but she did know that it was getting close to the evening. She was only half protected from the cold with her Nord blood.

Heading to the Grey Quarter, she had hoped to spend the night at the New Gnisis Cornerclub, where she knew the presence of civilians there would be sparse, and she could be alone.

That was when she spotted the brown-haired Nord, with a flower basket in her hand.

"Hello there," Miravelle put on her best smile.

Miravelle could have sworn that the little girl's face brightened up instantaneously. "Hi, miss. Would you like to buy some flowers?"

She peeked into her basket and found a small assortment of varied mountain flowers and ingredients. "Those are pretty. Did you pick those yourself?"

"Yes!" She nodded, seemingly hopeful that the female stranger would buy something from her.

Miravelle need to understand why a little girl like her would be standing out here, in Windhelm's bitter cold, Nord blood or not. "But why are you selling flowers? Aren't your parents working?"

That when when she averted her gaze to the floor. "They're… gone. My mother died when I was little and my papa was a Stormcloak soldier. One day he left and didn't come back. So… I'm all alone."

"So, you sell flowers. To survive," Miravelle could tell that it was not going well. The child's face was pale, like she had not eaten properly in days. "When did you last eat, child?"

"S-sometimes, Suvaris brings me something to eat."

"Don't you have a home, darling?"

The girl's silence was all Miravelle needed.

"Come on. Let's go to the New Gnisis Cornerclub. We can get something to eat and spend the night there, before I have to leave Windhelm tomorrow."

"Oh, um… Ambarys Rendar, the innkeeper, doesn't like Nords."

Miravelle was not aware of that. "You don't have to worry about that. I'm sure he'll listen to my Dunmer half."

"N-no, miss," She shook her head. "I really don't want to cause any trouble."

_Children are not trouble. Never to me._ "Then that's fine, love. We'll go to Candlehearth Hall. What's your name?"

"Sofie. And… you really don't have to do this, miss."

As a mother, Miravelle most definitely had to do this. "My name is Miravelle Rolain, dear Sofie. And I would like to do this for you. After I purchase some flowers from you, of course."

* * *

**Location:** **Candlehearth Hall, Windhelm**

Night had finally fallen. After Miravelle rented a room for the night, she and Sofie had their dinner and headed up to the top floor and sit next to the candle that had been lit for decades. Miravelle tried to calm her mind, calm her heart…

"It must be scary," Sofie spoke. "Being the Dragonborn."

Miravelle's gaze was fixed upon the fire. "My mother was a warrior, and she began training me in sword-fighting when I was 11. It _is_ scary, but it isn't really, since I can defend myself."

"Was your father a warrior too?"

No doubt the mention of her father caused her face to fall, but Miravelle answered her anyway. "He was a mage. A highly talented one, one of the best graduates from the College of Winterhold," She saw Sofie nod from the corner of her eye and could not help be continue. "He died. Dragon attack. It hasn't even been a week."

"I'm sorry, Lady Rolain."

Miravelle stifled a laugh at that. "Come on, Sofie. I told you: you may call me Miravelle. I do not mind at all."

"Yes, Miravelle." She giggled at that. "So… you understand how I feel?"

"Without a doubt."

Behind her, Miravelle heard chairs shuffle and caught sight of two figures hurrying down the stairs. She glanced around and realized that Rolff Stone-Fist and Angrenor Once-Honored not among them.

That worried the Dragonborn.

"Sofie, darling," Miravelle stood up, taking the Nord girl's hand. "Will you please stay in the room? There is something I have to check."

* * *

**Location: Grey Quarter, Windhelm**

_"Go back to Morrowind, Dark Elf maggots! You're not welcome here!"_

"Gods, I knew it!" Miravelle mumbled to herself as she jogged over to the location of that horrible taunt. This was followed by the sounds of bottles breaking. It was coming from somewhere near the Atheron Residence. True enough, she found the two Nord there, flinging bottles.

"You like living in this filthy slum, dark elves? Maybe you should go back to Morrowind, where you belong!"

"Hey!" She bellowed.

"Shit! I'm out of here, Rolff!" Angrenor Once-Honored dropped his last bottle of mead like a hot potato and took off.

"Coward!" Rolff screamed as his friend ran in the opposite direction.

"Apparently, you need to get hit in the face more than once to understand my message. Leave the Dunmer _alone_." Miravelle growled at her last word.

The door to the Atheron Residence opened up slightly and Suvaris peeked her head out. "Miravelle, don't! It's not worth it, please!"

"Get out of here, half-breed!" With his last bottle of mead, he drunkenly broke it across the nearby wall and pointed it at Miravelle, who had not moved.

Suvaris exited her room, much to the protest of her brothers. "Miravelle is more Nord than you will ever be, Rolff! Why won't you leave us alone?"

"Not until we figure out what these spies are really up to!"

"Ugh, this again?! Is it going to be like this every time I come to this city?" Miravelle walked up to him, determined to get that broken bottle away from Suvaris and at her instead. "You seriously need to find something else to fill up your time with. Preferably something where you keep quiet."

"All of you can just go to Oblivion! You and your foul father!"

It was like there was glass somewhere in Miravelle's mind, and now it had cracked upon Rolff's last sentence. The first fist she threw happened as if she had no control of her own body.

"I'M to go to Oblivion?! FOR WHAT?! For being a mixed-bred bitch?!" She threw a second punch, which resulted in the older Nord going down. "Let me tell you something, you uncivilized heathen! Oblivion is filled will people like you! You'll feel right at home!" The punches kept on coming. "You and everybody else who have done shit for this country, but expect everything!" She could not stop herself and kept on going, even though her hands started to bleed, as did his face. "One more time! Let me find you doing this one more time! And I will shout you to PIECES!"

As soon as she had shrieked the last word, thunder cracked and spread across the sky. Rain followed soon after.

"Miravelle! Miravelle, stop! You'll kill him!" Suvaris hurried over and attempted to pull her away by her shoulders.

"Miravelle, please stop!"

And she did – only after that innocent voice called her name. She craned her neck to find Sofie standing there, getting soaked in the rain.

Miravelle dropped her fists.

* * *

**Location:** **Candlehearth Hall, Windhelm**

"Dear Gods, what have I done?"

"Only something that should have been done a long time ago." Suvaris replied, as she dried off Miravelle's long black hair with a towel. The two women and Sofie were in their rented room for the night.

"The Jarl will be absolutely furious. His second-in-command's brother. He will have my head for sure this time!"

"I don't think Rolff would like it if people found out that he got hit by a girl." Sofie coined as she brought Miravelle a goblet of wine.

"No, he won't, will he?" She accepted it with a smile. "You are rather smart for your age,"

The little girl could only give a forlorn smile for that. "My papa used to say that all the time."

"And how right he was, sweet girl." Suvaris added to the conversation with a smile of her own.

"Sofie, darling," Miravelle took one of her hands. "Tomorrow we leave for Falkreath. After which, I will bring you to the Honorhall Orphanage. It is run by a wonderful lady named Constance. You will have food. You will have a bed. No longer will you have to endure the chills of Windhelm. You will be safe at last."

Miravelle did not see that hug coming, but she was more than delighted to return it.


	11. Always A Mother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do forgive this poor girl for the ridiculously long interval between chapters, and the fact that this chapter is short and shitty. The next ones will be better!
> 
> I missed out an entire chapter before this one. DAMN IT.

**Location: Dead Man's Inn, Falkreath  
** **9th of Sun's Dawn**

"I want to stay with you."

Miravelle had been cutting up apple slices and talking in depth about the Honorhall Orphanage, when Sofie's little voice spoke up.

"Oh darling…" Miravelle started off with a smile.

"You said you'd like to reopen your business after you're done with the dragons, right? Well, while you train people, I can help with selling some items! And-and you don't want to worry about feeding me; I'm used to eating very little."

Hearing that last sentence put Miravelle's heart in a tight grip. "Oh, sweet girl…" She quickly sat down the knife and hurried over to the little girl sitting at the edge of the bed, enveloping her in a hug. "As long as you are living with me, your belly will always be full."

"Y-you mean…?"

"Yes, Sofie. I would love for you to stay with me." _Once a mother, always a mother._

* * *

**Location: War Room, Palace of the Kings, Windhelm**

"Well?"

"Miravelle Rolain. Born 114 years ago in Lakeview Manor in Falkreath, when her parents built it on some land after her mother became Thane."

"Her Mer blood assures that she does not appear 114 years, doesn't it?"

"Indeed it doesn't," Galmar Stone-Fist remarked as he passed the thin journal over to his Jarl. "Seems that she has lived there all this time, even becoming Thane after her mother."

Ulfric Stormcloak flipped through the pages briefly – pages that detailed significant aspects of the Dragonborn's life. "Walking this Earth for more than a century, not knowing that she was blessed by Akatosh? The revelation must have certainly startled her."

"She is Skyrim's saviour; she has no time to be startled."

"She cannot even have some time to grieve for her father?"

"You didn't."

The Jarl's response was a half-smile that said, 'touché'.

"You both are doing important work." Galmar continued. "Do you think she will join the Imperials?"

"She insists to have no sides." Ulfric said, looking up from the journal and to his old friend.

"For now, Ulfric. She has immense power. Inborn power. The power of a dragon. She can annihilate this entire country if she wishes to do so."

"But she will not," The Jarl shut the journal and let it fall to the table, a look of determination on his Nordic features. "She is a child of Skyrim. It is my firm belief that she will not side with the Imperials and give them her power."

"But it certainly does not mean she will join with us."

"No, it does not."


End file.
